Magic and Might
by AEAndersen
Summary: Two years prior to Newt Scamander's arrival in New York City, a different disaster strikes MACUSA. A group of wizards sets out to find the culprit. Assisting them are a wily auror, a brooding squib, and a war hero.
1. Burn

The average No-Maj wouldn't have noticed the impossibility prowling about the diner counter, clambering over their meals and dipping its paper toes into yolk, syrup, and grease alike. They wouldn't have noticed the hastily scrawled words that plastered it like markings.

No, the paper rat went completely unnoticed by just about everyone. Except for a flush faced, freckled young woman who snatched it up with a horrified expression.

"Delia," she griped. Her aunt's name was oftentimes said in vain, for the boisterous woman had no clue what inconspicuous meant. She was a proud witch, and that meant flaunting her magic when the likelihood that the average citizen would see it was frightfully high.

When she was sure the coast was clear, the small brunette with skin like toasted hazelnuts opened the wiggling note and read. Her heart dropped into her stomach, then seemed to rocket right back up to her head.

'Trouble at MACUSA. get home. will be arriving with survivors soon. need safe place. everywhere else compromised.'

With her heart thrumming and hands shaking, Samantha turned to the grill and clicked every burner to 'Off'. She tucked the note into her apron and almost dashed to the diner door, almost giving notice to the manager before running off. Remembering the countless times she'd seen magic, how quickly it worked.

How quickly trouble could fall, and how it could end.

She picked a pen from her apron and scribbled a note onto a napkin, leaving it taped to the order rack as she raced out the back door and onto the streets.

The city was muted, the cacophony of horns and shouting less than nothing to the woman as she ran, wormed through the crowd towards home. Wanting so badly to run to the imposing silhouette a half mile away. From it rose a black, noxious smelling cloud. It carried with it the unmistakable scent of accelerant and gunpowder.

Her shoes smacked the pavement in a rhythm, kicking her forward more than pushing her up. She was almost flying, cheeks as red as the sunrise. The cold air was tearing at her lungs and she ignored it, ignored the stares as she booked it down the concrete path.

Home was a brownstone edging Central Park, a six-story structure of marble and crown molding. It was mere blocks away, and Sam was just closing the door behind as a familiar POP filled the den off the main hall. She scampered into the room, breath held as if awaiting the worst.

Delia Stormbrooke was a presence. Six and a half feet tall, ebony curls spilling form her beehive hairdo and framing her regal features. Her scarlet lipstick popped against her mocha skin and piercing jade gaze. Holding tight to her arms were their guests, a familiar brunette and a svelte but imposing man of an older persuasion. Both were dusted with ash, faces smudged with soot. She wondered, but dared not ask what happened.

Tina Goldstein was familiar- she'd met the woman and her sister enough to be an acquaintance. The curly hair, freckled man, however, was a stranger. He looked dismayed as her aunt spoke in an oddly husky tone.

"Commander Theseus, this is my niece, Samantha. Sam dear, this is a coworker. Please go fetch a pitcher of water and some glasses. We also will need some tea. Steep two tablespoons of the jar labeled 'breathe' into the large kettle please. I'll be back momentarily."

With another POP her aunt was gone, leaving her alone with their guests. Two Aurors, the crème de la crème of the wizarding world. Tina was dismissive but kind… somewhat. Sam guessed her distant attitude was more out of social awkwardness than malice. But this stranger? She hadn't the foggiest what this man would be like.

It was unnerving to be alone with the two of them. She didn't particularly have a soft spot for their kind. Nor did they for her. But they were in need, and she'd never turn away. It went against her oath to help all who sought it out.

She gestured behind them and murmured, "You can rest there on the couches. Washroom is that door there with the flowers on the door. What… happened?"

"Someone attacked us," Tina breathed. She coughed, and covered her mouth with her sleeve. Tears welled in her eyes. "No one is dead, but many are injured. Some badly. Word goes that Madam President's home was hit. She's fine, but... most of our homes are compromised."

"Then why did she bring you here?" Sam tilted her head, moving to take their accessories. The man flicked his wand and the ash was gone, whipping out the cracks of the window. The No-Maj kept her gaze averted as she took their coats and gloves. "Delia is an Auror, same as you two. Wouldn't she be a target?"

"No one knew where you lived," the man said quietly. His voice was a deep timber, sonorous yet gentle. Molten chocolate eyes sat against satin skin, sprayed with golden freckles. His loose reddish curls fell to just above his shoulders, complimenting the fashionable mustache he wore. On others, it might look ridiculous. On him, it was… admittedly smashing.

He sat on one of the assorted couches. A soft dance of dust rose into the grey light of the day. "Your aunt kept your location under wraps. On account of your…"

He didn't have to finish. Sam's cheeks turned ruddy and she nodded, suddenly quite uncomfortable in the room. "Yes. Understood. You two rest. I'll be back momentarily."

She left them quickly, eyes to the floor as she headed for the kitchen. Had Delia told them? Had they found out elsewhere? It had once been a secret, closely guarded by the family. Out of shame. She'd yet to discover who spilled the beans, but now it was more or less common knowledge. A source of agony.

The wizarding world hadn't been awful to her. But they also hadn't been kind. Countless times the hardcore supporters of Rappaport's Law had harassed her, tried to ban her from the magical community. They said she was a liability.

'No. Just an anomaly. An outcast,' she thought miserably.

The small woman set the kettle to boil and stepped into the cupboard, sifting through their expansive tea collection to find the appropriate blend. Long ago it had been carefully organized, magical and non-magical brews set apart. Nowadays Sam found that the whole thing was a game of Russian roulette.

She took the right bottle and prepared the pot of tea, was barely setting out the cups when another POP sounded from down the hall.

Footsteps filled the air and Delia strode in, cheeks painted with black ash. She took a teacup from her niece and sipped, sighing as a soft mist of darkness escaped her lips. She sounded far clearer when again she spoke.

"Good. That's the last of them. I've got to tend to some injuries, I should be back within a few hours."

Sam glowered and sighed, muttering, "I've got to be alone in a house full of wizards?"

Delia waved her hand dismissively and said, "It's just Queenie and Graves. You know them."

The younger made a small noise of worry, cheeks suddenly bright red. The Director of the Magical Enforcement Squad. The one who's job it was to make sure muggles didn't know about magic. Probably the very person who kept putting through the petitions to Obliviate her. He unnerved her because he had the authority to see her memories, her life wiped away if he deemed her dangerous.

"What? Why is he here? He's… he's too important to be here with us. Shouldn't he be with Madam President?"

The tall one shook her head and said, "It's a measure of insurance. The President and her cabinet have all been split up. Just in case one is found, the rest will remain unharmed. Relax, dear. You'll be fine."

"Be back soon please," Sam mumbled as she took the silver tray. She was remembering something her kin had said. Wasn't the other a Commander?

'you're absolutely screwed.'

With a tired smile her only living relative embraced her. "Oh sweetie. Calm down. You will be fine, I promise. Now I've got to go. I love you."

"Love you too," Sam sighed. A POP broke the air, and she was left alone in the early morning sun. It was slowly turning the gray room golden. She took a deep breath, hefted the tray, and headed for the sitting room.


	2. Breathe

She was immediately greeted by the ever-pleasant blonde, the younger of the Goldstein sisters. She was a shining beacon of kindness in a world that was otherwise outright hostile, and Sam adored her.

"You brought tea," Queenie said sweetly. "Thank you! Oh, it'll clear our lungs? How helpful. Tina I'm sure it will taste delightful, don't make that face."

Tina demanded huffily, "Stop reading my mind! Thank you, Sam."

The woman nodded and moved around the room, offering the tray and steaming mugs. The Scamander man eyed it suspiciously for a few minutes before deciding to accept. He sipped it with one pink held aloft, and Queenie proceeded to berate him for his manners. He raised his brow in a question, mentally questioning the Americans and their lack of refinery.

Sam giggled quietly at the blonde and turned, offered the final mug, cheeks feeling like fire as she managed for once to meet Percival's eyes. She greeted their guest softly, murmuring, "Hello Director."

He returned her sentiment with a polite nod, and a look that wasn't altogether hostility. He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but he didn't consider the woman a threat to wizardkind, nor to anyone else. On the few occasions she came to their headquarters to drop lunch off to her aunt… she was quiet. Somber. Despite being surrounded by those who hated her, she never showed aggression. It was endearing, in a way.

He took a long drink of his tea. The haze in his lungs and throat cleared in a cloud that rose from his lips to the air, dispersing until it was nothing.

Once everyone no longer sounded like a backroom jazz singer, the elder Goldstein stood.

"We need to get everything out now," Tina spoke up. "Before we forget. The evidence is crucial at this point. Sam, does your aunt have a magical bowl? She would store it somewhere safe. Perhaps besides some marked vials. They'd be no more than a finger's size. Holding silver strands pulled from her temple."

"A Pensive," Sam murmured. "I know what it is." She didn't mean for her words to be as snappy as they were. She disliked the patronizing way the Goldstein spoke to her. She knew the woman meant no harm, but it was nevertheless irritating.

With a slight blush, she apologized and nodded, exiting the room to find the appropriate item. Though her aunt didn't live in the mansion with her (claiming it held bad memories, a laughable thing), she had a whole floor of rooms she dedicated to magic. Potions, transfiguration… the squib knew them all. Years ago, she'd assisted Delia in her experiments. Now, she gave them a wide berth. Not for the dangerous elements. For the mental distress they wrought.

When she returned they were speaking in quiet, serious tones. She was ashamed of her words. People might be dead. It was no place to act out.

She set the bowl atop the table and laid beside it a half dozen vials. "Will that be enough? She has more, if need be."

Theseus murmured something in assent and sighed, raising his wand to his temple. A silver strand came free. Sam watched, enraptured. Her features were a mask of calm, disinterest. They had to be. If anyone knew how she still loved the art, they'd laugh in pity.

When the strand broke free he dropped it into the bowl and touched a finger to the surface.

She made a face as he was sucked in. A dozen questions swam in mind. Were memories objective or subjective? If the bowl spilled, would they be let out? Was Pensieve evidence admissible in court?

One by one, the others followed. The room cleared and she was left in silence, wondering what the memory world looked like.

It began with a hum that the assorted wizards were quick to notice. Expressions of confusion and mild interest crossed the Auror's faces, though none looked overly concerned. It didn't fade. Much the opposite, it progressively grew louder in pitch and volume.

At the front of the auditorium a brunette witch pursed her lips, huffing at the interruption. She was already on thin ice with her fellow peers, and was miffed at the idea that her presentation might be regarded in ill-manner, or forgotten due to this anomaly.

"As I was saying," Tina continued. "She has adopted two new children. One of whom is a Barebone descendant. Now, it's likely he's a squib-"

The hum rose sharply in volume once more. It was now impossible to ignore. A murmur rolled through the crowd. One witch muttered something about the Experimental Spells crew, who'd taken over the adjacent hall that day to show off their new charms.

"People in the crowd were talking about the smell of gunpowder," Theseus murmured. He'd come to stand beside his doppleganger, both of whom were peering out the doorway.

Beyond the room, witches and wizards had halted to look about. The hum seemed to be coming from across the way in another meeting hall, and one goblin sighed as he walked over to the offending door, a hand out to open it.

"Arresto momentum." Tina flicked her wand, bringing the scene to a slow. "Queenie, could you hear that from basement?"

"Yes," Queenie murmured. "As well as the malice from the perpetrator. It was so strong."

Delia turned away from the cloud of fire she knew was to follow. It came from the smallest of the meeting halls, unlikely to be used on a day like this. Someone knew where to strike and when.

It seemed Percival had come to same conclusion. He said lowly, "We have a mole. No muggle could have done this unaided."

As he spoke, the fire spread and curled through the hall. Most witches and wizards were fast enough to Apperate away, but it looked like a few had been…

"Rhododendron," Tina sighed. She watched as a young redhead was swept away in the intense heat, an expression of terror becoming her last as the flames turned white hot.

"A wizard aided muggle. Early morning. Did the house elves get away?" Theseus crouched to watch the scene advance. Employees evacuated in a frenzy, some coming back with visible wounds. There was nowhere safe to go. They were lucky this household was safe.

"Yes," Tina answered. She walked about, making small observations about the scene. She wasn't the observer that Graves and Queenie were, but she knew enough. She had learned enough. However, she still passed on every thought to her sister. She trusted her judgement above all.

Queenie proved immensely helpful. Truth of the matter was that they didn't have much evidence to gather. In their narrow mindsets, they assumed the perpetrator, and subconsciously selecting evidence that fit the bill. It wouldn't be until the scene was safe to return to would they think otherwise.

The younger Goldstein, however, felt otherwise. There was something notably off about the affair. She was strong enough that even here, in a memory, the emotions still whispered.

"Something is wrong," she announced once they left the memory. Time had passed. The sun was sitting on the horizon, filling the room with a brilliant and warm light. From somewhere down the hall came the scent of coffee.

Theseus gave a sniff and huff. His dark eyes focused on his tall American companion. A silent message seemed to pass between them, because the Commander responded momentarily.

"Yes. We'll investigate once Madam President sends word it's safe. For now… there are too many possibilities. Our homes aren't safe. MACUSA isn't safe. Laying low is our safest option."

Tina left the group for the kitchen, peering into the quiet as she looked for her the origin of the awakening liquid. The room was empty, but there was a note beside the still percolating coffee maker.

'Guests,

The second floor is dedicated solely to magical study. Use it (and the rest of the house) as you need. If you need me, I'll be in the penthouse.'

She poured a tall mug of the steaming beverage and breathed. Attempting to hold herself together. Now was not the time for tears. That would come later, once they assured the safety of their friends and colleagues.

Queenie was there in moments. Of course, she was. Somehow, she withstood the feelings and worries and terrors of so many others, and yet she never wavered in her kindness and apathy.

"We'll get through this, career girl," she murmured. She drew her sister into a hug, humming as she did so. A small tune their mother once sang, on dark and stormy days.

"Let's get to work," Tina said as they broke apart. "When Delia comes back, we return to MACUSA."

Queenie took her arm and led her back to the sitting room. They had work to do. Lives to save. She hadn't read her sister's mind since the attack, but a similar thought occurred to her as they rejoined their friends.

'now is not the time for sniffles. we must be strong.'


	3. Ashes

Delia arrived shortly before noon. She carried with her the scent of antiseptic and iron. Her eyes were dark, not quite focused as she entered the sitting room. It looked like the center of a war room with papers floating about and notes scribbled all over them. Theseus was in a deep discussion with Queenie by the fireplace, staring at a blueprint of MACUSA that was hastily marked up.

She hadn't been to the scene of the crime for some time. After evacuating the injured, they'd let the No-Maj police step in. It had been too much of a risk for them to go out. As the others had already figured out, the Congress had a mole in their midst. There was rumor that a smattering of wizards had returned with the intent to seal the crime scene, and was now missing. Now, though, the coast was clear. She still didn't intend to return alone.

Delia didn't place faith in such rumors. She'd maintained contact with the safe houses throughout the day, and to their knowledge, all employees were accounted for. Though not were all doing well. Ronnie had second degree burns and was still fighting for her life. Parth was paralyzed until they could find the materials to treat his damaged spinal cord. But they were alive. Everyone, somehow, had survived.

The room was quiet when she entered. She'd been updating the quartet there every few hours, and they'd adjusted their deductions as needed. No list had been compiled of the offending wizard, but a small one was set as to who the possible No-Maj behind the attack was. At the top was a woman Tina knew well, Mary Lou Barebone. Her portrait was floating beside a map of the city, beside two others.

Delia moved a stack of papers aside from a love seat and huffed, collapsing into soft cushion. She waved a hand at the works floating around. "It's a storm out there. The No-Maj haven't the slightest clue what's really going on, though they're puzzled as to why none of their kind were harmed. The fire bomb broke the barrier between our headquarters, though they won't find anything odd. We'll Obliviate anyone who knows too much once this is all over."

"But it's safe to go back," Queenie reminded her. "Now that you're back we can split up. Tina and I will investigate the leads. You and the men can head to MACUSA."

No one argued the plan. Queenie was good with people, Tina knew the facts. They were suited to the job of investigation. The other three were Aurors, the strongest of the strong. Together, they'd be safe.

In an uncharacteristically quiet voice, Delia said, "I'd like to bring Sam. She's studying psychology. Pretty damn good at it. She would be of immense help."

"No-Maj psychology is different than wizard's," Tina protested halfheartedly.

If she'd been in better spirits, Delia would've laughed. They weren't. At all. Sam had psycho-analyzed her and the knuckle headed naysayers at the Congress too many times to count.

It was Theseus who made the final decision. Being from a country with (slightly) more advanced attitudes towards Squibs, he was interested to see if the woman was anything like her aunt. He recalled a moment from a few hours ago. The demure squib had come downstairs to clear their dishes, quiet as a ghost. She studied the notes floating about, then made a quiet comment on the notes the Commander had been studying, argued her case to the point that there was no sound reason not to believe her Quiet people had the loudest minds.

"I will go with you two," he said, pointing to the sisters. "Delia, take your niece to headquarters. I do believe she will be of help."

Tina and Queenie traded a look of acceptance. It was impossible to be around both Graves and the Stormbrooke. Both were nothing short of demanding and expecting, and while they were full of charm and charisma, there was also no doubting their "no shit" attitude. At least Theseus, who'd retired from his illustrious career, had a somewhat easygoing nature.

He was also, in truth, absurdly handsome.

Tina extended an arm to the man. The three joined together and were gone in a whirl of wind.

Delia turned to the hall, expression curious. She raised a brow, and called, "Sam?"

The young woman peeked out from behind the wall. She was clearly dressed to go out, in a wool coat and large scarf. She did not, however, look eager to go. "Your Madam President is going to Obliviate me," she mumbled as she approached the two Aurors.

"Why would you think that?" Delia drew her close. She gripped her associate's arm, and he gave her a look. He was fine with the Squib herself, but he didn't like the idea of having to watch her. She wasn't suited to deal with an attack from a wizard, not one who they couldn't identify.

Sam shared Percival's sentiments. For years she'd been balancing on the edge of a knife above an abyss. She could fall back and die, or fall off and loose herself. Her memory. Her life. She was sure aiding this investigation would be the hand on her back, pushing her onto the blade.

Not to mention, she was close to an Auror. A Squib, with plenty of reason to lash out at their community. Thought she'd never do such a cruel thing. Would they suspect her?

"I know too much," Sam answered simply. She closed her eyes, exhaled deeply. The squeezing sensation of Apparition was over quickly, but still left her dizzy.

She sobered up when she opened her eyes. They were standing in the charred center of a disaster zone. All around them, ruined furniture, scorched walls. The signs of a quickly abandoned hell.

The first words to come from her lips, however, were calm. "This was not the work of... muggle."

Percival studied the woman. The word was no doubt picked up from Theseus' vocabulary, and for obvious reasons. It was kinder than No-Maj. But today was not about kindness. The job had to be done.

"What makes you think that?" he inquired. He led the way through the building. They were near the top of the structure, were the No-Maj dared not explore. Nor could they. The staircases had long crumbled, as all were wooden.

She waved a hand about to gesture to the general scene. The ash and the dust stirred about her, creating a brief dance in the dark.

"I know what it's like to hold your kind in a ill light. I know what the jealousy, the anger feels like. And this isn't that. This is calculated. indifferent." She bent to examine a shred of paper, eyes dark and shining.

"If I wanted to attack wizards... I'd do it one at a time. Strike fear into them slowly. Not this."

Her words were biting, frank and frightening. But earnest.

"The arsonist acted alone?" He offered a grimace. Ran through the evidence in his mind, turning it over. Yes, that was a possibility. And as much as he wanted to deny the option, he couldn't. He was the analyst.

Sam echoed his thoughts as she walked away, calling behind her, "'"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'"

On she walked, glancing through the offices and rooms. Thinking. She had decided to study the unforgiving field of psychology because it fit her. This place reminded her of her childhood. A dusty room, far out of the view of others. Oppressing silence was her only companion, and it drove her half insane. The constant, almost methodical way in which everyone treated her like something sad and pitiful.

They wouldn't win. Just a few more months, a few more hundred dollars and she'd be gone. To college. To make something of herself.

For now? She wandered around the place that hit too close to home, and thought some more.

Somehow, in the gloom and dark, a conversation struck up between the Auror and the one who wasn't supposed to know about their world. Between the comments, observations, and questions there were anecdotes, tales from childhood.

He was the child of Cor and Laniakea Graves, raised in the family home, pursued the life he'd always been told to. He was an Ilvermorny graduate, from the Wampus house. The same as her sister. Amusingly, they'd crossed paths in school on occasion and their relationship had been nothing but aggressive. Then he came to MACUSA. Somehow, he enjoyed the life he didn't have much a choice in. It was stressful, true. The hours were long and the work was tedious, but it fit him, the ladder climber. He trusted no one but himself to keep the country safe from those who sought to do it harm.

She told her story carefully, with white lies scattered where she didn't feel comfortable admitting the truth. She was careful. Her fear of him never vanished, though it had dimmed considerably. But he was a career man. He'd do anything to get the job done. A sad little squib wouldn't stop him. She measured her words and spoke with meticulous care, never revealing too much. Overall, it was an accurate tale. Squib born to a noble family. Cast aside, worked her butt off to stay afloat. She wanted to make sure no child ever felt the pain she had, and so now she was working to help them. Somehow, despite the dark matter of which she spoke, she never above a soft, airy murmur. Her general attitude seemed apathetic, though he knew firsthand that meant nothing.

Percival was aware of what she was. He knew she'd have to remain at arm's length at least. because someone like her would never really be accepted into this world. He was not intimate with here. Merely cordial. Helpful. She thought better when her mind was constantly running. Like a car engine, she couldn't idle too long. And still, somehow... speaking to her felt comfortable. He pretended otherwise.

Delia led them to where the bomb struck. It was across from the meeting hall where a mere eight hours ago, they'd been hearing about the New Salemers.

When they were actually at the sight of the disaster, the obvious became evident. It had indeed been someone they knew. Because the meeting hall that was now but ashes...

"We were supposed to be there," Delia whispered. "But there was a misprint."

Percival's mind was a series of interconnected ideas, theories, words. Like a domino effect, when one fell, so did the rest. One was toppling, and yet it hadn't quite fallen. That would come later.

For now, he knelt and thought. A wizard. Why would a wizard attack their own?

"The three most ancient motives for violence are sex, politics, and greed," Sam said.

Delia hummed as she paced. Thinking. "Well I don't think sex had to do with this. It isn't passionate enough. Greed? We help our own. We have a monthly donation pool. No one who works here wants for food or shelter. But politics..."

"The elections," Percival said. "Yes. Every four years we elect our President. Madam Picquery is in the running and looking to win again."

"It won't be a candidate," Sam said. She stood still, gaze looking into nothing. Absorbing, musing, correcting assumptions. Solving the crime as well as she could with all the new information. "It won't be that obvious. But someone who'll benefit if she doesn't win. Aren't the New Salemers on the list for the others? They're wasting their time We need to investigate anyone running for election. They've got to have something tying them to the arsonist."

Delia clapped her hands together and breathed. "Okay. We have a list, then. Let's get going. I have an odd feeling that at least one of the running wizards' homes will be untouched. That will be our arsonist, right?"

"Perhaps not. They can always frame someone," Sam said. She offered her hand to the other Auror, who took it silently.

The elder witch sighed at her niece and shook her head. She didn't know how Sam kept all these ideas, facts and figures straight. She was lucky to be so normal.

'It is far better that she live this ignorant life than know her potential,' Delia thought. For a moment, her expression flickered. Sorrow was there. Pity. Fright. Then it was gone.

She waved her wand, and they vanished from the ruins of smoke and ash.


End file.
